


this isn't home

by call_me_steve



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Circus, Damian Wayne Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The Flying Graysons - Freeform, they'll be there in references, this fic will deal with mature topics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23399605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_me_steve/pseuds/call_me_steve
Summary: Damian wakes up in an alternate universe- one where neither Batman or Superman (or any other hero, for that matter) exists. He's just a comic book character to them.To survive on his own until Father shows up, he ends up joining the circus, mind filled with Grayson's stories of his own adventures.For some reason, the circus isn't what he'd been thinking.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ!
> 
> Okay, matter of business number one, the idea of the alternate universe where heroes don't exist comes from: [Life Happens by the amazing Cdelphiki](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14779667/chapters/34182836) (you should totally go read their stuff, it's amazing) 
> 
> TWO: I have utterly no set word count or set update schedule for this, because I have two other on going fics right now- _i am we_ and _ghosting_ , but it shouldn't ever be more than a month between updates. So! Please forgive me if these first few updates are shaky, or inconsistent.
> 
> (Dear Lord, apologies for the word vomit.)
> 
> THREE: Check out my tumblr: [potato-reblob](https://potato-reblob.tumblr.com/) (feel free to come yell at me, asks are always open!)
> 
> FOUR: I just hope you enjoy! Leave a comment!
> 
> WARNINGS: Yeah, okay, I'll have warnings up for chapters that deal with these more mature themes? Just in case. _So, in this chapter: There's a brief moment where there's a reference to prostitution, a pedophile and a catcall._

Damian wakes up with a start. His hands sink into the grass beneath him, and that’s when he realizes that everything is  _ wrong. _

He racks his brain for some kind of answer, but everything comes up blank. He was with Father one moment, and then here the next. Everything in between is lost to the wind. That’s not very good, he thinks, before immediately deciding to curse himself out for being stupid enough to not remember what brought him here. 

He pushes himself up, wiping off the dew and dirt from his hands and onto his jeans. Damian hadn’t been Robin when he’d been- what, attacked? Zapped? He’d been simply Damian Wayne, walking along Gotham’s gritty streets with Father, looking for some kind of birthday present for Grayson. At least,  _ Father _ was looking for one. Damian was pleased to say that he already had a present. A thick canvas with a huge, rambunctious scene, full of life and light. Grayson would love it. Pennyworth had said so, and Pennyworth is  _ always _ right. 

But now there was a chance that Damian might miss it, because he was wherever here was. It wasn’t any place Damian recognized- though he could safely assume it was some kind of park. There were a plethora of skyscrapers in the background, a nice pond to his left. For all he knew, Damian could be on the other side of the world from the manor and Gotham. 

For all he knew- and he’s only thinking this because Father always taught him to expect the worst, compared to Mother’s  _ always assume you’ve been thrown into the best possible situation, and  _ excel. And, oh, did he excel. Regardless, for all he  _ knew, _ this could be some kind of alternate universe. Alternate timeline, maybe. An alternate dimension that coexisted with their own. If it were one of those, then Damian could consider himself  _ screwed. _ He could navigate the city and find himself a steady train ride back home any day with nothing but the shirt on his back. Get himself back to his own dimension, timeline, universe? 

He was pretty stuck up and arrogant, but he could safely say that it’d take him  _ years _ to get back home. If that was the case, honestly, Damian was better off waiting for Father to figure out where he went. It wouldn’t take him long, but it  _ also _ wouldn’t take Damian long to figure out whether it was simply teleportation or something a lot bigger.

With that in mind, Damian immediately set off for the city, keeping his eyes peeled for some sign of human life. He doesn’t have any kind of money on him, his phone was dead when he left the manor so he opted to leave it behind. He’s going to need people to get anywhere- or any kind of information. 

It isn’t that hard, actually, to find someone. He probably stumbles upon his first person within five minutes of leaving his spot. 

It’s a woman pushing along a stroller, a young child strapped into it. That was good for him; a mother will be more willing to help a thirteen year old more than anyone else. It’s those motherly instincts that Grayson told him of, once. 

They’d been patrolling and Damian had gotten a glimpse of a woman absolutely beating the  _ shit _ out of some dude, her toddler cowering behind her. Damian had been ready to drop down and stop the woman, she was the aggressor, he’d thought. After all, most of the women who’d been attacked by some male that Damian had seen had all cowered. But, Grayson had dropped down and softly told the woman that she was safe, had ordered Damian to cuff the stupid man on the ground. He explained it all out to Damian later, once they were home and getting ready for bed.  _ You never get in between a mother and her child, _ he’d said. _ It’s like a bear and her cub- The mother will maul you to death for even trying. _

Damian had no experience with mothers and these so called motherly instincts- the closest he had was Grayson, but Grayson wasn’t his mother. Talia was his mother, and she’d been one of his biggest aggressors during Damian’s life. So. 

So, so, so, he takes advantage of these instincts by hiking up his shoulders and curling in on himself. “Miss?” he asks, using all of Carrie Kelly’s acting lessons to pull this off. He’s not a shy child- and he’s certainly not one that’s in need of help. “I’m really sorry to bother you-” 

The woman looks up- her face is young, creased with premature wrinkles, blue eyes twinkling with mundane happiness and curiosity- and gives Damian a smile. “Hey, sweetie. Everything okay?” 

Damn, it’s a good thing that Pennyworth is in charge of picking out Damian’s clothes. He’s small and still has a pretty round, baby face- Grayson takes great pleasure in poking his cheeks and pointing that out- and Pennyworth dresses him in clothes that don’t make him look like a delinquent. That don’t make him look like  _ Todd. _ It makes it easier to ask the woman if he can borrow her phone, makes it easier for her to hand it over without worrying that Damian’s going to run off with it. 

The first thing he does is google their location. Google Maps shows that they’re pretty much by Gotham- except  _ Gotham _ is called  _ New Jersey _ and _ New York City. _ His mind crosses out teleportation and his heart sinks straight down to his chest. He grips the phone tighter and with shaking fingers, plucks out his name. 

There’s seventeen  _ million _ results. The first thing that he sees is:

**_Damian Wayne_ **

_ fictional character _

A chill rushes down his spine. He skims the  _ Wikipedia _ article, catches  _ DC comics _ and  _ Robin. _ It tells his entire  _ life story, _ talks of some man by the name of Grant Morrison and another named Andy Kubert who ‘created’ him. There’s a blurb on his  _ death, _ on his redemption for the Year of Blood- Further links bring him to Drake and Father and Todd, to Brown and Grayson and even Pennyworth. 

They all say the same thing. 

_ DC comics. _

Damian deletes his searches, hands the phone back with a fake smile, and promptly loses himself in the beat of his steps, in the soft thump of his old, red converse on the sidewalk that cuts through the green. He tries to compose himself, to digest all of this new information. 

It’s an alternate universe, like he thought it might be. (Alternate dimension? Probably not timeline.) He’s not getting home by himself. There’s no telling how long it’ll take Father to get him- (there’s no telling if Father  _ wants _ to come get him). Damian has no  _ money _ and Damian doesn’t have a  _ phone _ and-

And Damian knows how to survive, no matter the circumstances. It’s been the one thing that’s stayed constant through his life- the need to  _ survive- _ and he can figure it out no dice. All he needs is some way to get money, enough to grab himself a hotel room. He can pickpocket, no problem. He can bribe people with his watch, it’s probably still some kind of name brand here. Plus, a good majority of everything he’s  _ wearing _ is expensive- except the converse. He doesn’t remember who owned them before him, maybe Drake, maybe Todd before the Joker. Either way, they’re completely worn in and he wouldn’t trade them for much. 

But-

But Damian Wayne is all of thirteen years old, and thirteen year olds can’t get their own hotel room or apartment building and thirteen year olds can’t get jobs- which means once he’s out of money, Damian’s out of  _ money. _ Just a watch isn’t enough to get him by for however long he’ll be stuck here.    


He lets out a frustrated sigh and scuffs the ground with his foot. He’ll have to say goodbye to the watch anyway, so that’ll be first on his long list of things to do. Then he’ll get a new outfit- right now, there’s no way he’ll pass as a street kid. He’ll get mugged first thing if he tries to do that. Once he’s on the street, he’ll find something. There’s got to be some kind of work he can do under the table, because there’s no way he’s just going to  _ sit _ around and bide his time on the streets. 

And, well, he’s got a baby face. He can probably beg some cash off passerbyers. Probably mothers. Mothers with fancy pearl necklaces and golden rings and emerald earrings. They’ll eat his story right up. As long as he keeps out of CPS’s way- (do they have a CPS here?)- and out of the foster home system, he’ll be golden.

Golden and alone.

And lost in some random dimension, universe, thing. 

Yeah. 

He lets out another frustrated sigh, bringing up his hand to card through his hair. He can do this, no problem. Out of all of the challenges he’s faced, this’ll be easy. He snorts; by the time that Father gets around to getting him back, Damian will already be living lavishly. 

A car horn goes off, right by his ear. It’s a thick squeal, a loud roar that shakes Damian straight down to the bone. He blinks, once, twice, taking in his surroundings. He’s brought himself pretty far into the city, with thin buildings that look like they’re about to fall apart at any moment. There’s a pawn shop to his right, he can see the neon sign attempting to blind him out of the corner of his eye. At least, with his mind lost in thought, some part of him got him to where he had to go.

With that, Damian disappears into the shop. 

He’s back out on the streets a few hours later, ratty, tight jeans tight on his legs, faded sweatshirt rolling past his knuckles. It’s a look, he’ll have to admit. He’s got a couple hundred stuffed into his converse, another handful of twenties tucked into the pockets of his jeans. If he gets mugged, he’ll fork over the twenties and still have a decent amount for a week of meals. Over a week, (maybe even a month), if he does the smart thing and fasts.

It’s not like he’ll be out here for over a week, though. Father will be in the same dimension come morning and stumble upon Damian by noon tomorrow. He’ll be petting Titus and facing Grayson’s loving wrath by supper time. 

He passes by some dingy phone store and briefly ponders grabbing a burner, maybe an actual phone just to bide the time. Possibly even a tablet, it’s not like he’ll have any need for a monthly phone plan if he’s only going to be sticking around for a couple days. In the end, he passes it up. 

“Plan for the long term,” he mutters, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “expect the short term.” 

He’s not really sure where he got that idea from. Certainly not Father, Father was an  _ expect and plan for the long term _ kind of person _. _ Mother was very much the opposite of that. Or, at least, Damian  _ feels _ like they are. Mother expecting things done quickly. Father understood the essence of having time, although he never really  _ spent _ much time with Damian. 

And that brought Damian back to the idea of: maybe Father wasn’t coming for him. 

Why would he? There wasn’t any  _ reason _ for Father to come back for him. Damian had just been forced upon him, unlike his Father’s other children. Unlike Damian’s other brothers. Surely Father would put up a pretense of trying to look for Damian. He’d attempt to get him back, maybe, if only to quell Grayson’s worries. Then, once failure came, he’d just sigh and shrug his shoulders, abandon the task and the little boy who he never really knew.

Grayson would try to get Damian back, wouldn’t he? He’d get on Father’s case about it, somehow find a way to pull him into continuing to try and get Damian back. Because Grayson  _ cared _ about Damian. 

Grayson and him- They were  _ great. _

Damian turns his gaze to the sky. It’s clouded over, just like it is in Gotham. There’s no stars. That’s the one thing Damian misses about home, about living with Mother in the compound. There, he could stare out at the sky and see nothing  _ but _ stars. The sky would be speckled with them, have absolutely no shortage of constellations. 

Damian remembers sitting with his mother when he was really, really young. They’d just stare up at the night sky. His mother would point out all of the constellations that she found, explain to Damian how to find each one. She’d tell him their stories, tell him their names and what they meant to the people down on Earth. Those were his favorite moments. Grandfather wasn’t in them. 

He liked life a lot better when Grandfather wasn’t in it. 

A shout draws Damian out of his haze. Actually, it’s not a shout. It’s- 

It’s a fucking catcall. 

It’s not even a catcall aimed at some girl on the streets, no. It’s a catcall aimed at  _ Damian. _

What the fuck. 

Sure, he was deep in the gritty parts of town where more homeless people gathered than respectable business men, but- But Damian was  _ thirteen. _

Damian whips his head up and around, catching sight of a man walking on the other side of the road. His face is rectangular, a long, sharp nose resting right below small, mousy eyes. He’s  _ ugly. _ He’s ratty and tall and- And- And he’s a fucking  _ pedophile _ who just said something about Damian’s  _ ass. _

“Three hundred dollars for an hour, you asshole!” Damian shouts back, forcing as much poison as he can into his voice. The man looks poor as hell. His clothes are littered with holes. There’s no way he can even cough up three hundred bucks on the spot, so Damian knows it lands as an insult, not an offer. “Fuck off!” 

The man gets a gleam to his eyes and Damian immediately swallows anything else he was about to say. His lips move, but the sound doesn’t register in Damian’s ears. 

“Fuck off,” he repeats. “Dirty fucking pig.” 

Damian disappears down an alleyway not too long after, scaling the building like he used to do in Gotham. He’s not stupid enough to dare go out and patrol- he doesn’t have his costume and superheroes are things out of fiction. But, just like with Grayson, heights have a way of quelling Damian’s anxiety. 

The skyline before him isn’t familiar. It’s strange. Skyscrapers pop up in different places than Gotham’s, looking  _ newer, _ somehow. They look better than Gotham’s ancient glow. 

Besides the pit in his stomach, all Damian can think about is how much he wants to go  _ home. _

He spends a good portion of time on that rooftop, thinking and pondering. The sun comes back up before he falls asleep. Part of him expects a flash in the sky at any moment, some sort of sign that will tell him,  _ Father’s here. He’s come for you, Damian, all is well. _ The other part, more focused on the whole  _ long term _ aspect of it all, tells him that he needs to find some place better to stay than a rooftop in the seedier parts of the city. 

What, with the man last night, Damian’s got an ugly feeling growing in his stomach. If he stays around here, he risks something terrible happening. He could get mugged, like he’d been worried about yesterday, or worse. Lots of things could happen to a boy his size, his age. (A boy with  _ his _ looks, big green eyes and a slender figure, darkened skin from years in the sun.) 

Besides, he needs to get to the better part of Goth- of this city, of  _ New Jersey, _ to find mothers with pearls looped around their necks, with extra cash to hand out to little boys like him. He needs to get to a different part of this city to find holes in the walls, little places that will allow him to join their cause and earn a good buck or two. 

He can’t stop thinking about the chance of that  _ not _ happening. It’s unlikely that he’ll find anything, especially at  _ thirteen. _ Maybe he can leave the city, if it turns out the long term will be a lot more likely. He can find some farm to work on. He’s strong, knows his way around cows and other animals. He can do that- work on a farm. Hell, he can work better on a farm than he ever could in a city. The most he can do in the city is bust tables, hand out newspapers- do people even  _ do _ that anymore? 

Quickly, Damian drops down to the ground below. His mind is running circles- if he leaves the city, will Father ever be able to find him? It’ll take longer, if he does, or what if he miscalculates and goes out to the farm when Father does come? Father might assume Damian was never- He needs to stop thinking. If he works himself into a tizzy, he’ll just end up a whole lot more upset. If he’s upset, he’ll grow rash. 

It’s never a good thing when Damian is rash in his decisions. It gets him hurt. It gets  _ others _ hurt. 

There’s no one here with him to get hurt, at least. 

Lost in his own mind, he only comes back to himself when he’s standing in front of the park where he came from. It’s empty, save a few early morning joggers. Birds chirp from in the trees, grass covered in dew all over again. Damian trails through it, hands at his sides only swaying slightly. He walks on the path, as close to the edge as he can as to not mess up the runners workout. He should be among them, but for now, the need for money plays a stronger role in his mind. 

He’s about to exit the park at the other end when he sees it- a large red and yellow eyesore, popping out in contrast against the greens of the ground beneath. It’s a tent, he realizes. It’s a  _ circus _ tent. 

On quiet feet he sneaks to one of the entrance folds. There’s a clown nearby with a wild grin on his face, (something that sends shivers down Damian’s spine. Funny, nice clown or not- it only serves to remind him of the horrible Joker back home), shouting to anyone who walks by him to come to their show tonight. Damian peaks into the tent while avoiding his gaze. 

He’s high strung, right now, and tired. Maybe something like this will do him some good. He’s never been to a real circus, if you don’t count Wayne Manor and all of the kids, despite how Grayson always says that they should go. Damian’s mind still rings with stories from Grayson about the bright lights, the trapeze. 

He remembers long nights by Grayson’s side, swinging on the trapeze that Father had set up so long ago. He remembers learning how to swing like a Flying Grayson, remembers Grayson looking down at him with a breathless grin and saying,  _ you’re one of us now, Dames. _

Something deep inside him longs to walk in there and swing like he used to do beside Grayson. Instead, he only peers in. Everyone’s  _ laughing, _ inside, with bright eyes and beautiful smiles. 

Damian turns away. 

He might come back, he decides, as he takes note of the time that the clown is yelling out. 

He  _ might _ just come back and watch the show.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian goes to the circus to see the show.

In the end, Damian comes back to the circus, mood utterly obliterated. Out of the tens of places he’d checked out, he’d been turned away by each one.  _ It’s against the law to hire someone so young,  _ they’d told him.  _ Besides, we aren’t looking for help. _ Each of them had looked at him with sad, sad eyes, had taken in his ratty clothes and his round cheeks. Even when Damian had gone far enough to  _ lie, _ say he’s just turned sixteen, that he’s simply small for his age, he’d been  _ laughed  _ at. 

Father isn’t here yet, either. (It makes something dark pile up in his gut.)

So, yes, he comes back to the circus. He comes back in hopes of a good time, to drink in everyone’s smiles and cheers and get drunk off of the mood. Tomorrow, he hopes, it’ll be a better day, but the best that he can do  _ today _ is to finish it off with a good spirit. 

He feels bad when he sneaks past without paying, melting into the crowd and pretending to be one of these strangers’ children. It’s easier this way- he  _ needs _ this, and he  _ needs _ his money. Eventually he forgets about the crime, though, as he blends into the crowd. He finds his way to one of the upper bleachers, placing himself right beside a gaggle of children no older than himself. 

It takes a while for the show to start, and Damian takes his time looking around the crowd. There’s old ladies in pearls, surrounded by kids much too young to be anything but their grandchildren. There’s mothers and fathers with their own kids, younger couples and married ones- Everyone here has a story, and Damian becomes ignorant to them as soon as the spotlight flashes down on the center floor.

A man walks out, kind of short and stocky. His face isn’t smooth or clean shaven, but he looks just as put together and as professional as any business man that’s ever walked into Wayne Enterprises. His suit is a clashing purple, something that brings out the swirling of his eyes. It’s like they can’t seem to just  _ pick  _ a color. He’s not  _ lean, _ but he doesn’t have a stomach or a belly. 

He feels larger than life, bigger than this circus tent.

Everyone’s eyes are on him before he even says a word. 

He throws his arms wide, as if he’s about to take everyone into a hug, as if presenting,  _ here we are. Here we are! _

“Welcome!” he cries,  _ louder _ than life itself. “We’re very happy to have you all here, and we hope you all enjoy the show!” 

It starts with a literal bang- everything lights up all at once and it feels like the entire world rolls into this little circus tent. In the next hour- maybe two, the world melts to flashes when everything starts- Damian watches a roaring lion jump through flaming hoops, elephants prance around with dancing ladies on their backs. Clowns come out and pull some tricks, audience members are pulled down to be made fun of by the crowd.

The man in purple- the ringmaster- comes out again and again, boasting about the next act, about how  _ no one else can do what these men can! _

A man swallows a sword on fire, then turns around and spits the flames out. A woman does an elaborate dance with ribbons, glittering a gorgeous gold. They pull out ‘freaks’ as this ringmaster claims, women with beards and men too tall to be real. They pull the dagger trick- the one where a woman is cuffed to a spinning wheel and another throws blade after blade at her, no knife ever touching her skin. 

Someone else yet comes out, a bow in hand, on the back of a horse. He lets off shot after shot, each one hitting their mark- one hitting an apple on someone’s head, another hitting a card in another’s hand. Both are audience members, and both get a wonky hat for their troubles. 

Damian’s near  _ radiating _ with excitement when the ringmaster cries out about acrobatics, about the trapeze. Will it be anything like watching Grayson swing around back at home? Will it be anything like playing on the trapeze up in the air with him?

He’s on the edge of his seat when a lady comes out onto the tightrope, wading her way through until she’s in the dead middle. She fake-falls, catches herself with her legs around the tightrope, until she’s only hanging by her knees. People scream, then cheer. A man comes out, swinging on one of the bars, leaving the woman in her spot as he pulls off twists and turns on the bar. 

He doesn’t let go of the bar, not once, and Damian can’t help but feel ever so slightly disappointed. 

The woman is the only one who does a feat even  _ close _ to death-defying, and that’s when she lets go of the tightrope a moment early, spilling down right into the arms of the man. He catches her, holding her wrists as she holds his. Then, he swings her onto the nearest platform and allows her to take a bow before she’s rushing up the ladder for the next part of her act. 

With a plethora of flips, the man makes his exit.

Damian- Damian doesn’t feel  _ just _ disappointed anymore, far from it. He feels like he’s been let down by this circus- by the acrobats up in the sky. He can do better than them. He  _ knows _ he can. These  _ frauds _ might have the circus cheering, but all Damian can feel is his pride and his glow falling faster than a shooting star at night. 

Still, without missing a beat, the woman comes down again, sitting in a hoop, suspended by the very tip top of the tent. She does some tricks of her own from it, swirling herself around the hoop in ways that normal people would probably fall from.

That finishes as soon as the first one came, and everything else is lost to clips of acts and the ringmaster’s shouts and the crowd’s keen screams. 

Eventually, the ringmaster comes back out. He thanks everyone for coming. Damian’s still drawn in by him, but in the end, he only gets up and trails towards the doors dejectedly-

And then he feels a hand ghost along his pockets. 

(He’s normally hyper aware of everything. He knows where the exits are, where the people to be wary of are.  _ No one _ should’ve got this  _ close _ to him. No one- But he’d let his guard down, he let them get close enough- he  _ let them- _ ) 

Damian lashes out, panic thrumming through his veins like a sweet song from the past. There’s no risking his secret identity out here, not when Robin is only something on paper, so when his hand wraps around the person’s wrist, Damian  _ throws _ them over his shoulder, forcing all of the power he has into it. The person cries out, but their trick proved to work. In their hand is Damian’s crumpled twenties. 

They’re a pickpocket.

They’re a goddamn  _ pickpocket, _ and they’re taking  _ Damian’s cash. _

_ Rage _ floods every inch of him, right down to the ends of his fingers and the tips of his toes. Without thinking, he lunges for the person on the ground, screeching like a  _ child _ would, when throwing a tantrum. 

“ _ I need that cash! _ ” he cries. “It’s  _ mine, _ you can’t take it-”

A fist plants itself right on Damian’s nose, rocking him back so hard that Damian falls onto his ass with a cry. His nose  _ crunches _ beneath the person’s fist, but as they stand before Damian, they only look  _ young. _

They look young and scared and they’re holding the cash in their hands close to their chest like it’s not only  _ sixty _ dollars, but like it’s nearly  _ a thousand. _ Their eyes are wide and they’re looking at their fist like it’s a  _ knife _ they’d just stabbed someone with, and Damian doesn’t have the heart to get up, and to fight them, and to  _ scream. _

Instead he stays sitting and he holds up a hand to his nose and he lets the tears well up in his eyes. 

The kid, they have to be a kid, looks up for a split second and pales, before they’re turning on their heel and running. Not even a minute later, a man kneels down before Damian and reaches for his hand. Damian flinches, reeling back, but the man successfully pulls Damian’s arm away. 

Damian takes in his outfit, the smile on his lips, the unshaven chin. 

The ringmaster leans down over Damian and tuts, prodding at his nose. 

“That was a nasty hit,” he says, and his voice somehow sounds the same as it did in the tent, sounds just as big and as worldly. His smile is smaller, but not any less true as it was before. He turns Damian’s head in his hand, scanning his nose over. With careful hands, he pulls Damian up to his feet. “Why don’t you come with me, kid? We’ll get that set for you, and I’ll see what I can do about the cash you just lost.” 

“No- no, hey- I gotta get back to my mom-” 

The ringmaster gives Damian a look, arched brow and all. “We get kids like you all the time,” he says. “You think I didn’t know that you didn’t pay?” He gives Damian a wink. “I see everything, kiddo.” 

Damian just kind of stares- stares at the ringmaster and the waning crowd and the fading tent. “I-”

“Are you just going to stand there?” He reaches for Damian’s arm. “C’mon, son-” 

He doesn’t move. Instead, he looks down at his hands- there’s blood on them. His nose must be bleeding. “I-” he starts, again. “I- I don’t want you to  _ replace _ the money I lost. I- That’s unfair to take your hard earned money. I’d-” 

He thinks of the trapeze. He thinks of Grayson. 

He thinks that that’s where he wants to be, and he finds his mouth moving by itself. 

“I want to work for it. I want to join your circus.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, super sorry about how short this one is! 
> 
> leave a comment??


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian proves himself to Ave.

The ringmaster just kind of _laughs_ in Damian’s face when he says it, says something or other about _little boys running away to join the circus._ As he herds Damian into one of the tents, he introduces him as _Ave,_ the ringmaster and head of the circus. 

“I’m not one of those _little boys,_ ” Damian grits out. He hadn’t just run away from home- he’d been forcefully dropped here, by _something_ he can’t quite seem to remember. Still, he goes with Ave. He’ll just have to convince him _later_ of how serious he is- he wants to be up on the trapeze just like Grayson had, once. He wants to be _here,_ until the world rolls to a stop and someone finally comes to bring him home.

Ave quirks a grin that Damian kind of wants to wipe clean off him- it’s one that _underestimates,_ one that thinks of Damian as nothing more than a _child._ “What are ya’ running from, son?” he asks. 

“I’m not running from anything,” Damian returns. “I think you’ll find that I’m not _like_ those other _little boys._ ” 

He’s pushed down onto a box, sturdy enough that it doesn’t even creak under Damian’s weight. There’s someone else in the circus tent, a muscular man who’s easily double Damian’s height. He’s got on a leotard, spotty-blue and stretched too thin. His head is bald, and on his face sits a handle-bar mustache. It’s the perfect look of a stereotypical strong man. 

“Alfonso,” Ave greets. He goes over to clap _Alfonso_ on the back, strong enough to make the man beam. Ave gestures over to Damian as he steps away, heading over to another small box. “Meet our _newest_ member-” He pauses, looking sheepish. “Ah, son, I don’t believe I caught your name.”

 _Damian,_ Damian thinks, before shutting that down. There’s no need to give his real identity- not to these people. “Jason,” he says. “My name is Jason.” 

God, he hopes that it isn’t _Todd_ of all people who shows up to save him. He does _not_ need _anyone_ knowing that Damian chose _his_ name of all people. Damian could’ve said _Richard-_ or _Grayson,_ in homage to the Flying Graysons. At least _then-_

Well. No. If any of these folks happened to be comic book fans, they could shoot Damian down in three seconds. And there was _no_ way that Damian was going to try and pass _himself_ off as a comic book fan. _Please._

“Jason, eh?” Alfonso booms. “Do you have a special trick?” 

Damian hazards a shrug, trying to pass as nonchalant. Part of him wants to keep everything under wraps for a while, and put himself into the group as a helper first, but- He’s always been a show-off. “I’m particular to the _trapeze,_ ” he says, not letting the pure _want_ bleed into his tone. “I’ve also heard I’m pretty good with a bow.” 

Ave gets a glint in his eyes. “Why don’t you _show_ us, then, son? I’ll go talk to Cindy and Marcus- keep them from taking down the trapeze and the tightrope. I’d like to know what you can _do,_ before I ship you off to deal with the animals.” Then, almost thoughtfully, he adds, “I’m sure that Ash will let you borrow a bow, too, if you ask nicely enough.” 

After a beat, Damian decides that he won’t be asking this ‘Ash’ person for a bow. Even if he _doesn’t_ impress Ave, hanging out and caring for the circus animals won’t be the worst thing he’s ever done. He adores Batcow, and _does_ take care of her to his best ability, so he has no doubt that he can help. Hell, he might help _regardless_ of the fact- since he’s certain that he’ll impress Ave. The performers he’d seen earlier had _nothing_ on Damian’s abilities- especially since they’d all been passed down from the Flying Graysons themselves. 

_The amazing Flying Jason,_ Damian thinks, with some mirth. How silly. 

Still, as Damian holds Ave’s gaze, he has to swallow down the grin that threatens to split his face in two. He’s never really been on the trapeze without Grayson there, alongside him. He feels a little giddy at the thought of trying it.

Ave leads him past Alfonso, going back to the main tent where that young woman who’d been on the hoop and trapeze earlier. Now that he can see her up close, he can see her long blonde hair- which had been up in a high ponytail earlier- that flows down past the small of her back and her green eyes. They remind Damian of his mother- the shade is acidic, potent enough to make him wary of her. She’s dressed in a baby-blue bodice, covered in sparkles and settled over a tight blouse, with billowy sleeves. On her legs are tight leggings, made to be flexible and easy to move in. 

“What’s up, Ave?” she asks, tone no way resembling her looks. She’s got some sort of rich accent that Damian can’t quite place. The way she speaks makes her sound like a brash person, Damian thinks. She probably _is_ brash. 

“We’ve got a new recruit,” Ave explains, settling a hand on Damian’s shoulder. He does his best not to shrug it off. “He wants to take a crack at the trapeze, if you don’t mind.” 

Cindy- or, who Damian _assumes_ to be Cindy- looks Damian over. “He looks no older than ten,” she says, but gestures to the trapeze anyway. “If you want, I can go up, too. Or, I can go grab Marcus.” 

“I’d rather work with you, if that’s all right,” Damian says, politely. It’s best to give people false assumptions, before he leaves them in the dust. He makes sure to add, with a sly smile, “Besides, I didn’t see _Marcus_ doing much defying gravity while I watched the show.” 

Cindy quirks a brow. “The hell’s your name, kid?” 

The way she speaks reminds him of Todd- almost _completely._ Though, she hasn’t sworn that much, yet, so he has some hope. 

“It’s Jason,” Ave tells her, when Damian walks right past her. Then, Ave looks past her to scan Damian’s clothes over. “You sure you don’t want something more flexible than _jeans,_ kid?” 

Damian thinks for a moment. Cindy’s clearly taller than Damian is, and he’s unsure if they’ll have anything for him to change into that’ll actually fit him. But, Ave’s right. Jeans won’t allow him to make the impression he really wants to. With that in mind, he quickly agrees to a costume change. He makes the mistake of calling Cindy _‘Cindy’,_ though, to which she turns up her nose and says she absolutely _hates_ that name.

In the end, Damian never learns what he’s supposed to call her. He _does_ learn that she’s very hands-on. She gets him one of Marcus’ old outfits, a green vest- she explains that they’ve gone through a plethora of colors, and this is their fifteenth change back to blue- over a shirt like hers, just as sparkly and horrendous. He gets tights and boots of his own, too. Once he has them all on, and once Cindy’s done messing with him, they walk back out to Ave. 

The boots remind Damian of his Robin boots. They’re sturdy and Damian’s sure he could use them to kick someone if he ever needed to, without having to worry about damage to his foot or ankle. To get a good feel for them, he rocks back and forth from his toes to the balls of his feet. He doesn’t tie the shoelaces, but it’s purposeful. He hadn’t done it back as Robin, most times, either. 

A small act of rebellion, he calls it. _His_ small act of rebellion, in the face of fear and uncertainty.

They pass Ave and climb up to the tightrope, to which Damian decides to copy Cindy’s performance to a T before going off and doing his own thing. He knows that Ave’s watching him closely, probably ready to make fun of the outfit choice. He _knows_ he looks stupid. 

Once he’s up on the platform, he easily walks the length of it. It’s so simple, he fears he might laugh, especially with the net beneath him. Perfect form and perfect balance has always been beaten into Damian since he was a toddling baby- no grandson of the Demon Head would be caught slouching. He thinks about walking all the way over to Cindy, and then doing something flashy, but instead, he stays true to his plan.

However, he _does_ throw a little bit of acting into it. When he’s less than halfway through, he pretends like he’s getting too cocky, and starts taking the rope faster. Then, at exactly halfway, he purposefully missteps, letting his face melt into one of pure horror. Damian actually hears Cindy cry out- Ave’s too far away to catch the expression on Damian’s face. 

Just before he falls too far, he tucks his leg around the line, catching himself with a single knee and letting himself hang upside down. He stretches out his free leg and his arms for a moment, as if to tell everyone _watch me, watch me, watch me._ Then, he curls up and grabs the tightrope with both of his hands, thrusting himself back onto it. Once he’s standing back on the rope, and his balance is restored, he leaps into the air and does a split.

Once he falls past the rope for a second time, he tucks into a ball and lets himself hit the net. Like something out of a cartoon, the net bounces him back up to the tightrope, which he grabs onto once again. 

He continues to walk down it until he meets Cindy on her platform. Without looking at her, he grabs at the trapeze bar and urges her to meet him at the other side. As he watches her cross the tightrope, he leaps off of the edge, taking pride in the feeling of the wind in his hair. Once he sees Cindy swing off of the other platform, he pushes himself off of his bar and flips in the air, timing it just right, so that when he falls back down, Cindy’s there to catch his wrists. 

They swing until Damian wraps his legs around another bar, letting go of Cindy to let himself swing back. There’s not many tricks he can do without Grayson, since he knows that Cindy isn’t possibly in the same caliber as him. So, he resigns himself to flipping about the bar, pretending to strike poses just for the fun of it. Every time he can, he performs a risky leap and ends up falling right into Cindy’s grip, as if there wasn’t any danger to begin with. 

Eventually, once Damian’s flipped his heart out, Cindy calls it a day and drops down onto the net. She’s heavier and doesn’t bounce as high as Damian does, when he falls down onto it again, too. Once they settle on it, Cindy works her way down to the ground. Damian stays on the net, beaming up at the top of the tent. 

Ave walks over once he realizes Damian’s not about to get up, leaning on the net a little. Damian turns his head to him, shooting him a smile. “So?” he asks. “Am I still just one of those ‘little boys’?” 

The laugh Ave gives him is deep. If Damian were standing beside him, Ave might’ve clapped his hand down onto Damian’s shoulder again. “No, son,” Ave replies, once he wipes a tear from his eye. “I think you’ll be a valuable asset to our team.” 

Mother had always called Damian a _valuable asset._ Grayson had never liked the term much, but Father used it, once or twice, too. Hearing Ave say it, though, makes something inside of Damian’s belly flutter. 

Maybe the circus won’t be that bad- maybe Grayson had been right when he called it _home_ all those years ago.

(But, can it ever feel like _home_ if _home_ is a whole multiverse away?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhhhhhurgh


End file.
